Sanctuary
by Mirune Keishiko
Summary: Black Widow has joined the man formerly known as Captain America in hiding after the events of "Civil War".


**Refuge**

_by K M_

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There might have been a boy, once.

She might have made him up. She might not have. The cheekbones. The impeccable posture. The baritone, too kind to be a rasp. She might have heard it echoing down the hall outside, filtering through the thin standard-specs door to her family's apartment, talking school maybe, talking sports. He would have to have been much older than her. She would have been just a little girl at the time; they had come for her not much later.

Nat hummed a little as she lifted the lid, let steam billow past. She caught herself and stopped humming. There wasn't any real song to it, anyway.

That boy could not have been anyone she'd known in particular, as fractured as her memories were that far back. But sometimes, when she looked at Steve, she felt as though he must have been. There had to have been, calling to her in his image.

How else could she explain that pull? That wordless, thoughtless, almost instinctual urge to be with him, support him, protect him at all times?

It wasn't lust, she told herself. And Steve had no concept of seduction. Nat knew plenty of handsome men, as well as charming ones, sweet ones, dull ones, and smart ones like Tony Stark; men who knew their way around women and men who fell at her feet helpless. By and large they were a blur to her, tried to use her, tried to keep her. Even in the freedom she had gained when she defected, even when she could have opted for a new and normal life, she had found little in them to interest her. They were all much the same, even Tony who was just a little smarter, worked just a little harder to stay on the side of the angels, for which reason she still more or less respected him. Even though, like so many others, he still hadn't been able to let go of his ego in the end.

No, it wasn't lust, even though she with her assassin's eye could always note the steel of a finely tuned muscle, the curve of a well-developed arm.

But how else could she explain why she was here, now, toiling at a stove in the middle of nondescript suburbia and watching the clock like a... like a wife waiting for her husband to come home?

He was, for that matter, late. She spun the pasta into the pot, lowered the heat. She began to fill the dishwasher with used utensils, absent-mindedly tucking her newly blond hair behind her ear as she stooped.

She could have gone somewhere else. She probably would have been better off somewhere else, too, on her own where she knew the terrain better, could access more resources to lie low. She was, after all, now one of the world's most wanted, just like him. She hadn't had to end up in this life, making dinner night after night for lack of much else to do, the picture of domesticity. Laying two places at the table only, of late, to clean up for just one.

He'd been the one to point out, soon after she'd found him to his utter lack of surprise, that couples tended to attract less attention than singles living alone. She'd shrugged at him. Everybody knew that. She poured herself a glass of wine.

She had to eat at some point, was all. And while she was at it, might as well cook for two, right?

She was well into her second glass of wine, straining out the pasta over the sink, when she heard the step outside the front door four floors below and pretended to ignore the sudden heat of gladness in her chest. She was already pouring another glass of wine when the door swung open.

"About damn time." She smiled as he shut and locked the door behind him. "I made your favorite."

"Thanks." He slumped into the couch and groaned, leaning his head back, stretching out his legs on top of the battered coffee table. "Economy was terrible."

"I warned you." She slapped at his knees, one by one, and he obediently lowered his feet back to the floor. She turned on some music. "How was Wakanda?" She placed in front of him a plate of spaghetti.

"It was good. You should meet Shuri next time." He paused, staring down at a meatball. "They put Bucky back under."

She wanted to touch him. Instead she sat back, curled her fingers around her wineglass. She watched him eat the meatball slowly, as if to distract himself. "I'm sorry to hear that." Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. She pushed his wineglass toward him in silent suggestion.

"Well, I'm sure they'll get him better soon." His tone was wistful, his expression clouded. She held her tongue and watched him eat.

He was too pure for her, as Banner hadn't been. Banner, she'd wanted. Somebody who felt damaged, too, somebody who knew what it was like to fear and distrust and regret oneself, all at the same time. In her loneliness she had been drawn to him, the man who was the Hulk, a beacon in her lifelong night; she'd craved what Banner had promised of understanding, of sympathy, of sameness.

Steve, sitting there neatly demolishing a plate of pasta, was different. Steve was certainty, absolute and irrevocable. He was, as he said, always honest. More than that, he was unambivalent, uncompromising, unequivocal. Nat had long since stopped believing in truth, but she knew she could trust in how he did. In this, he was even lonelier than her. She had chosen to continue on this spy's path, secret and strategic, but he had chosen simply to serve the world, and it had left him behind while he slept.

And now that he'd woken up, he still served it. It was not even a choice.

Choices could be changed. He didn't.

Banner she'd wanted. This Captain she needed. Banner had seemed to promise comfort in her lonely life, but Steve gave her a purpose. Even if, for now, it was only to make him his favorite dinner on the night he finally came home, having entrusted his best friend to a people twenty hours away by plane with not nearly enough legroom.

He looked up as she refilled his glass without asking and left the bottle on the table. Nat smiled into shadowed blue eyes. "I'll clean up."

He protested less than usual. Nat put away the food and dishes and came back to find his feet on the table again and his head flopped backward in sleep. The bottle on the table was empty.

She brought him a blanket, not that he needed it. She refused to admit that she had missed him. She told herself he probably hadn't missed her. She tucked the blanket around him carefully and left his feet propped up on the table this time.

She glanced up to find him watching her, eyes dark, hair askew.

She kissed him tentatively, telling herself it was the wine, knowing she wasn't drunk, knowing he couldn't be. Even as she tasted the softness of his lips she cursed herself for what she'd done, felt his hand on her shoulder and braced herself—

—but then he leaned into her, mouth meeting hers with an ease that made her smile despite her tears as she kissed him back and his arm tightened around her waist. He was tired, she reminded herself, tired and sad and so very alone, and she understood, and had done much more for far lesser men. He kissed her so hard they both gasped for breath and then she laughed shakily, catching hold of his arm when he started to pull away.

"Someone's been practicing," she whispered.

His smile was rueful. "Someone said that I needed to."

She grinned back. "I said _everybody_ needs practice."

He looked at her; she stared back. His jaw was rough with stubble against her fingertips. "Nat—"

"You said once," she interrupted, "you wanted me to be a friend." She resisted the impulse to kiss him again just yet. She would not seduce him. "Will you let me? Be a friend?"

He exhaled. His fingers splayed up her back, digging into her skin. He could break her in a single movement. "Nat..."

She kissed him again. She didn't need to hear that he was sorry. In the morning she could tell him she was, too.

.

_fin_

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[Author's Notes: Sorry for the difference in FFNet title and in the document itself; FFNet doesn't like duplicate story titles and I wanted to stick by "Refuge" for better or worse. Also, fyi I've only ever watched the movies and not read any comics, although I have heard that Cap and Nat do have a relationship in some storylines. I dashed this off in half a day and I suspect it shows, but I hope I haven't done too much of a disservice to these awesome characters! Thanks for reading!]


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